


Saturday 7th November 1987: The Wedding Party

by TheGreenFaery



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Honeymoon, NSFW, Orchids, Smut, wedding shenanigans, whisky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenFaery/pseuds/TheGreenFaery
Summary: So... there was a discussion on Tumblr and then this happened and I absolutely, completely and utterly, categorically refuse to take responsibility for it. It's all Polynya's fault.Artwork courtesy of the wonderful Polynya. Go and show that lady some love because she puts up with a lot from me and she absolutely deserves it.Please note that the rating has changed from mature to EXPLICIT. I REPEAT, THE RATING IS NOW EXPLICIT. NSFW. NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN OR THOSE OF DELICATE DISPOSITIONS.Oh, and Renji and Rukia kick off their honeymoon.
Relationships: Abarai Renji/Kuchiki Rukia, Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana
Comments: 17
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [polynya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polynya/gifts).



> There was talk about Renji and Rukia's 80s wedding, and I ended up getting a little too invested in it. 
> 
> ** Now presenting... THE WEDDING PARTY: THE OST!!! **  
> Go to >> open.spotify.com/playlist/2mOukMHmXajVv520c6j1le << for 2 hrs 45 minutes of cheesy goodness and the perfect accompaniment to this hot mess.
> 
> All pop culture references are relevant to the date in question (i.e. if I mention how someone looks like a particular celebrity, I mean how that celebrity looked at the time.)
> 
> Kids... Just ask your parents.

Kyōraku Shunsui had lied to him. Repeatedly. He’d said it was only going to be a small affair; family and close friends. He’d said that they were a _respectable_ sort. And then he’d brought _her_ along and she lied to him too!

Well, _she_ hadn’t. Her face had, though. Her face and those pleading, desperate eyes, and that soft and earnest, _hopeful_ voice that had lulled him into a false sense of security. They had all told him that he wouldn’t regret it.

He regretted it.

He _deeply_ regretted it.

He was still trying to work out why he’d agreed to this in the first place.

A complete lie, of course. He knew exactly why he’d agreed to this. His Grandfather’s disapproving tone resounded through his head, “And this is why you should never make decisions when it’s your nethers doing the thinking!”

He’d never been a religious man, but he could at least now firmly attest that Hell was very much real and it was currently in his dining hall. It was heralded by the cacophony of Stock Aitken Waterman. It was loud and smoky and somehow both dark and incredibly lurid all at once. It smelt of Advocaat and Cinzano and Piña Coladas, the floor was sticky, and there were these stupid tiny animated deer wearing blue bows about their necks prancing across the tables.

No.

Wait.

That was just the Babycham.

Neil Tennant had a point: what _had_ he done to deserve this?

Good grief, just what was in those shots that the redhead had insisted he try?

Blue.

Blue was in them.

Blue tasted fucking awful.

Don’t even get him started on the green ones; they were nearly as bad as the orange ones.

He had to admit, though, the quality of the band and their occasional contributions was drastically improved after the fourth round. ‘Band’. More like a free-for-all with drunken louts and musical instruments. He still wasn’t convinced that their performance of White Wedding was entirely appropriate for the occasion. Or maybe it was. Either way, surely Billy-Idol-wannabe could have found some sleeves for it? And who has the number sixty-nine tattooed on their face anyway? Who would have _anything_ tattooed on their face? Perhaps the leather choker was too tight. Depriving him of some much-needed oxygen. He snorted at his own joke. The lad on the keyboards was alright; a sensible sort who was taking his instrumental duty very, _very_ seriously. Son of the director of Karakura Hospital, apparently. At the very least, he knew how to wear a suit. _And_ how to do a proper Windsor knot.

He’d had zero interest in showing his face, but once what appeared to be half of some Yakuza crime syndicate started arriving at the property he thought he’d better keep an eye on things. It was purely coincidental that the things he was most interested in keeping an eye on seemed to follow a slender figure in a rather lovely emerald off-the-shoulder dress, matching eyeshadow, and so much jewellery he hoped she didn’t pass by the fridge in case any of it was magnetic. (Or maybe he did. It would certainly be a novel way of ensnaring a woman; an entertaining tale for future Kuchiki generations.) She’d long ditched the heels and was flitting around in tiny stockinged feet doing her utmost to keep everyone in check. An unenviable task at best; as far as he could tell his house was hosting Bowie’s spare goblin hordes auditioning for a rehash of Footloose and Dirty Dancing outtakes. (He had been genuinely concerned for the structural integrity of his home during ‘Lip Up Fatty’. No building should ever have to suffer that many pairs of bovver boots crashing about the place. Bad Manners, indeed.)

No one had attempted _that_ lift yet, but he was fairly certain that the tattooed monstrosity of a bridegroom had bench-pressed his cackling wife all the way through Olivia Newton-John. It would have been impressive if she wasn’t quite so small (the groom’s ridiculous shock of deep crimson hair was both bigger than the bride and weighed more), although the lace flapping in his eyes must have hindered things.

Apparently her sister had made the dress. And the floral arrangements. He strongly suspected that she’d had her hands full with the cakes as well, if the decorations were anything to go by. She’d certainly spent enough time putting everything in place over the past couple of days. It was all very tasteful and sophisticated and completely out of place with the rest of the wedding party.

Regardless, it was a wonder she was still standing.

Perhaps that was why he’d spent the best part of an hour outside in the early November chill, lurking amongst the chrysanthemums and budding winter peonies watching her every move. Just in case she collapsed.

That, or the fact that every now and then he’d catch a glimpse of stocking trim taunting him from beneath crushed velvet.

Even the sound of someone landing in his treasured koi pond and the following cheer wasn’t enough to drag his attention away.

At least the east wing was off-limits.

Or so he thought.

“Ken-chan! KEN-CHAN!” A small, pink-haired child, no more than six years old, came barraging through the wedding party wielding a particularly deadly looking katana. A Kuchiki family heirloom from the seventeenth century, a glimpse into their feudal past. “LOOK WHAT I FOUND!” The guests ducked as she swung it around carelessly. “There’s a whole room of them!”

“Yachiru, darling, I don’t think you’re meant to have that.” The woman he’d been watching all evening attempted to extricate the blade from the young girl’s hands.

The hulking great beast of a man that Byakuya could only assume was the child’s father seemed completely unconcerned that she was brandishing a lethal instrument. He looked not too dissimilar to a giant, feral Pete Burns, with his glittering eyepatch and hair so wild, one wouldn’t be surprised to find a tanuki nesting in it. “Tschh! She’ll be fine. Let ‘er play.” He waved off any worries, slinking back into his seat in the shadows; eyes shut, legs outstretched, and arms crossed as though in slumber.

Byakuya intervened, and in a swift motion disarmed the child. “I’ll be taking that, thank you.”

A hush fell over the crowd as the girl’s father cracked open an eyelid, growling, “Who are you?”

Byakuya levelled an impassive stare in return, “The owner.”

The man, Zaraki Kenpachi, or ‘Ken-chan’ drew himself to full height, a menacing grin plastered across his face as he sized up his opponent. “You know how to use it?”

Byakuya shrugged nonchalantly.

“Ooookay, we’re just going to… umm… return this …” The small woman made a face at the bride, her near identical younger sister, as she forcefully shepherded Byakuya from the hall. “Everyone carry on!”

Once they were outside, the sound of synthesisers and a pounding drumbeat reignited from within.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t realise she’d-.”

“It’s fine,” Byakuya cut her off. It wasn’t fine, but he’d once again made the fatal mistake of looking at her face. He was just about to reprimand her about the fact that he’d stipulated no children were to be present in his home, before he remembered that he’d conceded on that point too.

She was dangerous. He may as well just give her the keys to his home and all the family silver.

“I’m Hisana.”

He saw her small smile from the corner of his periphery, before catching himself and looking firmly ahead. “I know.”

Hisana wrung her hands nervously, “Of course you do,” she muttered, “We’ve already met.” She didn’t really think that sitting in the same room together for twenty minutes in absolute silence really counted, though. Still, there was nothing quite like an extremely attractive and unbelievably wealthy and powerful man to make you feel very, very stupid.

“Where did she even find that?” she asked, pointing at the sword.

His jaw tensed, “The east wing.”

She paused, frowning. “I thought that was-.”

“Locked?” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “So did I.” 

His lengthy and determined strides left little opening for further talk, and Hisana was beginning to wonder why she was still following him. He clearly thought she was nothing more than a nuisance.

Nevertheless, she continued to trail after him like an anxious puppy. “Look, I’m really sorry fo-.”

“So you’ve said,” he interrupted brusquely.

She pulled gently on his arm, stopping him. “I’ll pay for any damages, honestly. It just… might take a while.” She winced with a pained expression. When Nanao’s Uncle Shunsui had told her he’d found the perfect venue for her sister’s wedding reception, Hisana didn’t realise that he meant he’d found the _perfect_ venue for her sister’s wedding reception.

It was no secret that this was a budget wedding between two very young and most definitely stupid people who loved each other very much and had maybe ¥365 and half a bag of crisps between them (which is to say not a lot). It was also no secret that the original venue, The Hanging Dog, was a less than salubrious joint which had been forced to close because someone had managed to burn the entire place to the ground a fortnight earlier. (She had an awful feeling that _certain unnamed individuals_ involved in the fight that started the blaze were present tonight. Even if they didn’t actually light the match, the glare reflecting from that someone’s shiny, bald head was certainly more than capable of doing so.)

The point was that they could _afford_ to hire The Hanging Dog. There was no way they could afford to even look at the front door of this… this… this _palace_ , but Uncle Shunsui had insisted that she at least come and see it. And so she did.

The first half hour was painful. Kuchiki Byakuya just sat there staring at her like, well, she didn’t know what really, but it was distinctly uncomfortable, made all the worse because he was just so damned attractive. And Shunsui had sat there with an ever-growing _grin_ on his face, which meant that he was up to something and she didn’t like it, but with only eight days until the wedding she was beyond caring and practically ready to throw herself prostrate on the ground and start begging. Thankfully, it was at that point Kuchiki’s grandfather, Ginrei, walked in and saved both the day and her pride, on the proviso that he (and his friends) be allowed to attend.

In fact, the last she saw, Ginrei was having a jolly old time showing the ‘young people’ how to twist properly, and Genryūsai was doing his level best to drink Uncles Shunsui and Jūshirō under the table whilst Chōjirō adjudicated.

Byakuya, on the other hand, was the complete antithesis of his grandfather who seemed to have a sudden new-found zest for life. He was also having a tough time processing the fact that this mere slip of a woman was touching him under the guise of an apology. This was not how apologies worked. Apologies came in the form of a strongly- if ambiguously- worded letter that made it quite clear that whilst the author _may_ be sympathetic to the recipient’s feelings they were not responsible for them. This, whatever this was, was not an apology. He looked down at her until she stopped babbling whatever excuses she could come up with and let go of his arm.

The second his back was turned, she threw her arms up in the air in silent exasperation and stuck her tongue out at him. She was _trying_ to apologise. He didn’t have to be so bloody diff-.

“There’s a mirror on the wall, you know.”

Shit.

“You also have a ladder.”

What? Sure enough, halfway up her right thigh there it was. She must have caught it with… She raised an eyebrow at him. His back was still turned, but she knew she didn’t imagine that smirk in his reflection.

Oh ho.

_Ohhh_ ho ho ho.

There was no way he would have noticed that little snag if he _hadn’t been looking_. Was he _toying_ with her? She’d caught him looking in her direction a couple of times through the evening, but had assumed he was expecting her to be light-fingered. Was he actually..? She realised that the expression that she had been taking as one of disdain, was actually something altogether far more promising and, dare she say it, _predatory_. That was a heady thought, right there. Or maybe she was just drunk. She didn’t _think_ she’d had that much to drink. Although, unlike Rukia, she _was_ a lightweight, so maybe…

“You’re blushing.” He didn’t really know why he was giving her a running commentary of her appearance, other than the fact that good old fashioned Dutch courage seemed to have loosened his tongue. He wasn’t especially bothered, mind you. Not when it made her all flustered like this. She really was quite charming.

Well, he could be charming, too.

He briefly wondered how else he could make her all flushed and rosy cheeked.

“Excuse me?”

He was also thinking aloud, apparently. There was only one way he could play this one out: defiantly and with cocksure confidence. He turned his head to the side and skimmed her body from head to toe with a smouldering gaze. That should do it.

Hisana was all too familiar with the signs that a man was making his move. Being friends with Matsumoto Rangiku taught you all of them and more. She had always been more than a little envious of the frequency that Rangiku had to deal with men trying their luck, not to mention her confidence. It wasn’t her fault, of course, and she in no way blamed her, but she just wasn’t… She just wasn’t _Rangiku_.

She knew all of the signs that a man was making his move. The problem was that she had no idea what to do with them when they were being directed at _her_. Certainly not from anyone as intimidating as Kuchiki Byakuya. It made her feel all swoopy inside.

So she did what any self-respecting woman in her situation would do.

She channelled her inner Pat Benatar and aloofly sashayed past, completely ignoring him.

He spluttered, nearly dropped his sword before remembering himself and catching up with her.

Rukia would be so proud of her normally shy, prissy big sister.

Ironically, or perhaps fatefully, she could just make out the sound of Aretha Franklin questioning “Who’s Zoomin’ Who?” in the background.

And so, with her tongue firmly in her cheek and more than a little alcohol in her system, she decided right there and then that the gloves were off. This game was most definitely _on_.

After crossing the enormous entrance hall, they had reached the mythical east wing, and Hisana darted in front to open the door.

The handle wouldn’t budge.

“It’s locked.”

Byakuya rolled his eyes. “It can’t be.” He nudged her aside. “How else would she have-?”

Nope.

It was definitely locked.

His eyes narrowed, as he looked back in the direction from whence they came. He had so many questions, but ultimately decided no good would come of asking them. “Hold this.” He went to pass the katana over to his companion, pulling it back sharply as she unthinkingly went to grab the blade. “No! Just…” he pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Never mind.”

“Wha-? No!” Hisana whined petulantly. “I want to hold it!” He stared at her as she pouted at him. “I’ve never held a sword before.”

Sighing deeply, he forced his eyes away.

“Please?”

Despite thinking better of it, he crumpled inside. Gingerly handed over the sword, hilt first this time, he warned, “Try not to hurt yourself.” She squealed excitedly, beaming at him and he had to take a moment to remember why they were here in the first place.

Ah, yes. Fishing for the keys in his pocket, he mumbled to himself, pondering when he had become such a pushover. Glancing to his left, he saw Hisana closely inspecting the engraving on the hilt of the katana.

Right.

Eight days ago.

As the key clicked into place, and the door opened with ease, Byakuya reached for the light switch and Hisana got her first glimpse of a very long, very plain, very boring, and most definitely very anticlimactic corridor.

“Is this it?” she said, completely unimpressed. He looked at her incredulously. “Oh, sorry. Do the girls normally wait until the bedroom before saying that?”

She blew a cheeky kiss at him as he scowled, turning to lock the door behind them. His darkened mood soon changed, however, when she sidled up to him said slyly, “Didn’t realise you were so desperate to get me alone.”

He swallowed slowly, as he took charge once again of the katana. He allowed her to take the lead, and allowed himself the opportunity to appreciate the view of her delightfully pert backside. Delightfully pert _everything_ , really, he decided.

Turning the corner, they were struck by a cold draught; a window was left wide open, and the Chinese water bamboo display that had sat upon the sill lay scattered in a puddle upon the floor. Hisana dashed forward and delicately began picking up the pieces, inspecting the damage to the plant. Its glass bowl was smashed and the decorative pebbles were strewn far and wide. Irritated, Byakuya slammed the window shut. At least he now knew where that demon-child had broken in.

“I’m so sor-.”

He held up a hand telling her to stop. “It’s not your fault. Leave it. I’ll sort it.” She glanced at him, placing the larger pieces of glass upon the windowsill as he nudged smaller shards to the wall with his toe. She’d just taken a couple of steps when she winced and lifted her foot. Picking the offending bit of glass from the nylon before it did any more damage, she ruefully thought about the shoes she’d abandoned.

She caught Byakuya watching her intensely and grumbled at him, “You could offer me a piggy-back, you know.” She’d already ended up at hospital once before with a shard of glass stuck in her foot, she really didn’t want a repeat.

“I never said you had to come with me.”

“You never said I couldn’t,” she shot back.

At an impasse, the pair stared at each other. Which was somewhat problematic for Byakuya, because he’d never met anyone he couldn’t stare at without giving in to their every whim. Until Hisana.

He considered his options. Even with the katana in hand he could quite easily pick her up, she was so tiny. But that would involve _physical contact_. Certainly, the thought of her thighs wrapped about him if he gave her a piggy-back was making him a little bit giddy.

Shaking his head briskly and clearing his throat, he came to his conclusion as he brushed past her. “I am not carrying you.”

“Oh, what?!” She balled her hands into fists in a mock temper tantrum. “Why not?”

“You’re too heavy.”

Her mouth fell open in indignation at his retreating back. “You… You… did _not_ ju… How _rude_! Give me that katana back!”

Standing in front of another door towards the end of the corridor, he called to her. “If you want it, you’ll have to come and get it.”

“Yeah, but what about the sword?” she cackled.

He snorted. Maybe she was just as uncouth as the rest of the rabble. She may look angelic, but she had a _filthy_ laugh.

Byakuya took one final glance at her stranded down the hallway and flicked the switch, leaving her in the dark for the trophy room.

He had to laugh when she gave a high-pitched, pitiful whine, “That’s just mean!”

Thankfully, Byakuya found the trophy room intact for the most part; only the display stand that had held the weapon currently in his grip and its _saya_ , or scabbard, had been displaced.

He just finished putting everything into order when a sharp jab in the ribs jolted him and several expletives out of his skin. “Can’t you wear a bell, woman?” he hissed.

Hisana glared at him. “That was mean.”

“It was,” he concurred. “Very. You should apologise.”

She swatted him in the stomach. “ _And_ you called me fat!”

“No I didn’t.” His eyes did another quick sweep of the room. “I said you were too heavy to carry.”

“It’s the same thing!” She pouted sulkily at him. “You’re mean.”

He had to bite his tongue to stop laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time someone called him out on his bad behaviour. Perhaps they never had. It was one of the more fortunate things about the legacy of the noble Kuchiki family and being the sole heir of a not inconsiderable fortune: everyone _expected_ the spoilt little rich boy to behave like a spoilt little rich boy. They certainly never questioned it. Still, he could think of worse punishments than being pouted at by a particularly alluring young woman with particularly alluring sugar pink lips.

“Are you even listening to me?” she asked shrilly.

He blinked at her. “Hmm? Sorry, could you repeat that? I was… distracted.”

“Distracted? By what?”

“You.” Sometimes honesty was the best policy.

“Me?!” Hisana shrieked. “How?!”

“You’re very distracting.”

She stared at him, taken aback. “What’s _that_ supposed to meannmphhhhh?”

Sugar pink and just as sweet, kissing her was a very effective way of shutting her up. “Better?”

Stunned, it took her a few seconds to get a hold of herself. Sorry Pat, love _is_ a battlefield but she was rapidly losing ground. “I still can’t believe you called me fat,” she eventually mumbled, staring at her feet.

Byakuya’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Seriously? Woman, I’ve seen cats that weigh more than you.”

She eyed him reproachfully. “I _do_ have a name, you know.”

Suitably chastised, his approach softened. “Yes. Yes, you do,” he admitted quietly. A very pretty one, he thought, as he went to check that the windows were locked in this room as well.

She observed his movements silently. Metal carries water. There was certainly steel in his gaze, those piercing grey eyes. At his very core, if his reputation was anything to go by. And he carried himself with the sort of fluid grace that inspired minds far more eloquent than hers. “Do you really know how to use it?”

Byakuya frowned in puzzlement.

“The katana.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Look behind you.”

There was a glass cabinet full of trophies for kendo tournaments. “I’ll take that as a yes.” For the first time, it dawned on her that Yachiru was right; there really _was_ a room full of weapons. Granted, most of them were locked behind glass, but that didn’t necessarily make her feel any easier about the situation she’d put herself in. He was dangerous. It was intoxicating.

She could feel him watching her.

Biting her bottom lip, she nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. “So, err… is this a house or a museum?” she asked lightly. She turned to find him leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. He’d look almost bored to passers-by. And maybe he was.

“I ask myself the same question almost every day,” he uttered softly.

A large cheer suddenly broke out outside. A crescendo of rhythmic chanting.

Hisana grimaced and sighed. “I suppose I’d better get back before they break something.”

“Are they normally this…” he struggled to find the appropriate word.

“Loud?” Hisana chuckled. “Unfortunately.” She was transfixed by a terrifying samurai _s_ _ōmen_ hanging on the wall above the now-returned blade. A full-face red and black mask with snarling gold teeth and protruding fangs, now dull with age. “Where did you get all this?” she whispered in awe. “It’s incredible.”

“Inherited it,” he answered, apparently unfazed, although he found himself wanting her to be impressed a little more than was perhaps healthy. “You can see the rest of the house, if you want.”

Hisana bit her bottom lip hesitantly, glancing at the window. She could now make out the sound of an especially rousing rendition of ‘Pearl’s Café’.

“They’ll be fine.”

She was unconvinced.

“Grandfather’s there. He’s quite capable of handling a few idiots.”

“I…” That wasn’t what she was worried about. It was the hungry glint in his eyes. He made to hand her the keys. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ve had quite enough noise to last for the next nine years. Just make sure to lock the door behind you.”

That she could understand. She _did_ have a bit of a headache. And Rukia would kill her if she found out she’d turned down the opportunity for a secret rendezvous with such a dish.

“Okay,” she said, looping her arm through his. She was the maid-of-honour. It was practically her sworn duty to sneak off with eligible bachelors. She could do this. “By the way, what do I call you?”

He squinted, confused by the question. “I’m Kuchiki Byakuya.” How did she not -?

“Yes, I _know_ that, but what do I _call_ you?”

“Oh.” He hesitated. Most associates referred to him as Kuchiki-sama, but that was much too formal. “Byakuya-sama will suffice.”

She started sniggering and talking in the most horribly affected accent, “Byakuya- _sama_. How very posh.”

“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

She shook her head profusely, “Of course not, _my Lord_.”

“Yes you are.” It was his own fault.

“Not at all, my Lord.”

“Please stop.” He deserved it, really.

“At once, my Lord.”

He closed his eyes in exasperation, “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

She grinned up at him. “I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”

* * *

They’d ended up in the games room, which, as luck would have it, also housed the most comfortable seats in the entire house and a full-sized bar, fully-stocked with the finest saké, wine, liquors and spirits.

“You have such a beautiful house.” Maybe she _had_ had one too many strawberry daiquiris. She was feeling all giggly and girlish and fuzzy inside. She’d hung on to Byakuya’s arm for the entire grand tour. She wasn’t sure if it was for support or simply because he smelt nice. And he did. Smell nice. She’d told him so at least six times in the past ten minutes. Like warm spice with undertones of amber and sandalwood. He was the epitome of a sandalwood man; quiet but intense. Brooding. Powerful.

She was becoming increasingly chatty, but finding words was becoming increasingly difficult. Also, her ears were exceptionally warm.

“I like beautiful things.”

“Oh? Like me?” she replied saucily, perching cross-legged on the bar stool and fluttering her eyelashes.

“Yes. Like you.” He leant across her, left arm reaching behind the bar and right hand brushing the hem of her dress and skimming the lace and ladder of her stocking. He was much too close, his breath grazing her ear before pulling away, a bottle of Yamazaki single malt in hand. “Drink?” Blushing, she grinned coquettishly.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Kuchiki Byakuya?”

He smirked back as he retrieved a couple of crystal tumblers from the cabinet. Having poured two glasses, he settled in an aged dark red leather Chesterfield armchair next to a small oak table before beckoning her over.

“Do you drink whisky?” he enquired as his molten gaze lingered just a little too long on the hem of her dress. Hisana shook her head. “Ever had it?” No. She didn’t feel like telling him that today was the first day she’d had anything alcoholic since Chinese New Year, more than nine months ago. “Hmm.” He turned his attention back to the bottle. “The thing is, Hisana,” he purred, “this here is a particularly fine vintage and it’s at the perfect temperature.” He swapped the bottle for one of the tumblers. “It would be an awful shame to let this go to waste now, wouldn’t it?”

He proffered the drink to her, but pulled it back just as her fingertips reached the glass and used her momentum to his advantage as he drew her into him. Startled, she threw out her hands to balance herself before realising that they had landed firmly on his chest, her right knee on the corner of the seat and her left leg between his own.

Her eyes widened as his right hand fell to her waist. “Byakuya-sama,” she whispered, “are you trying to seduce me?”

His features softened and his left thumb traced her lips, “Well, now, that depends.”

“Oh?”

His eyes sought hers, desperate for her permission, as his rich, velvety voice quietened to an almost ghostly sotto voce, “Is it working?”

Working? She refrained from telling him that she’d down the entire bottle in one if it meant he’d say her name like that again. Instead, she shuffled so that her left leg mirrored her right, effectively straddling him, and leaned across to take the glass he’d poured for her, arching her back and making a show of offering him her décolletage in return. His hand moved down from her waist and trapped her hip in an iron-grip as he exhaled slowly in an effort to contain himself.

She never broke eye contact.

“Tell me more about this drink,” her voice was low and husky.

This all-too enticing game of cat and mouse was suddenly very, very real. It was daunting and thrilling and everything she had ever wanted but had never dared take.

Until now.

* * *

“Hey, Ru, have you seen Hisana?” Renji managed to catch Rukia between songs.

“Errrm…” she scanned the room quickly and shrugged. “She’s probably snuck off for a kip.” Rukia couldn’t blame her. The briefest of glances at all of Hisana’s work for this wedding was proof that she’d truly outdone herself this time. “Why? What’s up?”

Renji was rootling through piles of paper plates and packets of serviettes, picking things up and setting them down again. “I can’t find the cake slice.”

Rukia frowned, “I thought she put it with the cake.”

Renji indicated the lengthy tables that had been pushed together along the wall. They were a laden cornucopia of food which included no less than seven multi-tiered cakes. “Which one?”

“I dunno,” she was really much more interested in topping up Orihime’s Blue Lagoon. Orihime, who was getting to that interesting stage of tipsiness where she was starting to get just a little bit lairy, and closer to the point where she’d do her Mel & Kim impression, much to Ichigo’s chagrin. “The one with the flowers on?”

“Ah, right. Wait-.” Renji emerged from under the table. “Ru!” He threw up his hands in defeat at his wife’s vanishing form. His sister-in-law was a florist. _Everything_ had flowers on.

* * *

Hisana didn’t quite know what to make of it. The heat had surprised her, and she was unaccustomed to the taste. She really wanted to spit it out, but Byakuya insisted that she hold it on her tongue. Her eyes were watering and she knew her make-up was a mess, but she knew she had to persist, if only because he was caressing her face so tenderly.

“Good girl,” he wiped a stray tear from her cheek and kissed the back of her right hand. Tilting her head back just a fraction, he continued, “Now… swallow it _slowly_ and savour it. Feel it go down, that’s it.”

She wasn’t sure this was savouring it. She wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t battery acid. But he seemed to enjoy it very much and she was willing to give it another go, just…

“Can I have some more ice, please?”

“No. No more ice, sweet thing, you’ll ruin it.”

She whimpered and looked at him imploringly. He laughed and shook his head, nuzzling her nose with his.

As far as Kuchiki Byakuya was concerned, if Hell was in his dining hall, Heaven was very much here and now in the games room. He’d had the best forty minutes of his life so far, they were both pleasantly buzzed, and they were both still fully dressed.

He was trying to teach Hisana the finer points of drinking whisky, and whilst she was most definitely his favourite student, she was in no way a good one. She hadn’t even managed to finish that first glass, and it was now diluted beyond recognition. Still, he had to give her extra points for effort. And points meant kisses.

Also, as a terrible a whisky drinker as she was, she had quickly learnt that she could gain extra credit through even more kisses so, really, it was a win-win situation all round.

“Would you like another?” She was an excellent hostess. Perfect, actually. Attentive with a desire to please. It was no wonder a man as selfish as he had become smitten with her in the few days he’d known her.

Speaking of selfish desires, he ached for her. He ignored her question has his hand crept up her thigh. The other worked on teasing her extraordinarily large hoop earring out of the way. Obstacle removed, he inhaled deeply at the perfume resting on her pulse point. Soft, sweet and gentle. Much like her. Exactly like her. Understated with devastating effect.

“How long do we have?” He didn’t want this to be a five-minute fumble in a secluded corner with the threat of being caught hanging over them. He wasn’t a horny teenager.

She drew back and took him in through half-lidded eyes. “How long did you want?”

* * *

Hisana was half-sprawled across Byakuya’s chest in a contended daze, her legs entwined with his own as he ran his left hand gently up and down her arm. His right lay nestled in her hair, softly cradling her head to him. He was also in the midst of his own deep and pleasant stillness that followed only the most satisfying climax.

Neither had said a word.

Neither wanted to move.

Neither wanted to break this spell.

They’d been like this for over ten minutes.

Slowly, she began to stir and the weight of what she’d just done hit home, sobering her instantly. Not _this_. This was perfect. Byakuya felt her entire body tense just before she jolted upright, clutching desperately at the silk sheet as she hunted for her clothes. “I have to go. The wedding…” She was missing a stocking. “Rukia’s going to kill me,” she muttered to herself. She gave up on the stocking, it was the laddered one anyway, and hoicked the other one back off with the suspender belt attached.

Standing in front of the mirror, she began scrunching her hair. The joy of having it permed was that, even if it wasn’t exactly curly, it was always stylishly messy. “I bet they can’t find the bloody cake slice.” She’d just finished shoving an armful of bracelets and bangles over her long sleeves when she turned back to Byakuya, “Where did you put my...?”

The expression on his face made her stop.

His eyes were pleading for her to stay.

She didn’t particularly want to leave. “My sister… the wedding…” She trailed off, biting her bottom lip.

He began desperately searching for a reason to not let her go.

“I never showed you the indoor garden.”

Whilst her curiosity was most certainly piqued, it was impossible to ignore that nagging voice telling her she was neglecting her duty as maid-of-honour.

“I collect orchids, you see.”

Did he just say..?

“Do you like orchids?”

Hisana’s eyes lit up. “I _love_ orchids,” she said breathily. Wedding be damned. There were orchids demanding her attention.

That settled it. Byakuya mentally sent Susannah Hoffs to the back of the queue, noting that she could reapply for the position if this all went tits up. _This_ was the woman he was going to marry.

* * *

“Ya know, I’m surprised there weren’t any shenanigans at the reception,” Renji mused aloud as he sat at his sister-in-law’s kitchen table, flicking through blurry photograph after blurry photograph. “Disappointing.”

“What do you mean?” Rukia asked quizzically. “Where’s that pic of Yumichi-? Ah, here it is! I’d say this counts as shenanigans.”

Hisana peered over her sister’s shoulder, before snatching the photo from her hands. “What on earth..?” Turning it upside down didn’t help. “Is that one of Byakuya’s carp?”

Rukia scrunched her face up at her sister’s apparent over-familiarity of the venue’s owner, mouthing the name quizzically at Renji who failed to notice.

“You know what I mean. No one sneaking off for raunchy rendezvous, that sort of thing. Even Rangiku behaved herself!”

Hisana choked on her tea. Thankfully, Renji remained oblivious. Rukia, on the other hand, turned her head sharply and pierced her with a hawkish gaze. Her sister had been acting weird since the wedding; secretive and coy. She began to put the pieces together.

“ _HISANA_!” she burst out, slamming both hands down, howling with laughter. “I knew it! I _fucking knew it_!” Renji looked between the two, trying to work out what was going on.

Hisana mumbled, “Shut up,” at her younger sister, her face tinged pink. It was at this point the proverbial penny dropped and Renji turned to his sister-in-law as though she’d suddenly morphed into something utterly unrecognisable before he, too, roared with good-humoured approval.

“Hisana: the secret slut,” Rukia teased.

“It wasn’t like that!” Hisana protested hotly. It was _exactly_ like that.

“So says the woman who got more action on my wedding night than I did,” Rukia quipped.

“It wasn’t!” It really was.

“Oh, come off it, sis. You were gone for _aaaaaaages_.”

“He was showing me his orchids!” It just turned out to be even better and more long-term than she could have ever hoped for.

Renji doubled over, wheezing, as Rukia raised her eyebrows at her sister. “Uhh huh. _‘Orchids.’_ ”

“He was! Look! He even gave me one!” She nipped out of the room.

“I’ll bet he did,” Rukia muttered suggestively to her husband. She faltered only when Hisana returned with a small pot containing a single flowering orchid with dark green leaves and purple stripes bleeding down milky white petals. Hisana also had a glassy, reverent look in her eyes.

“Look at it,” she sighed, “Isn’t she _beautiful_?”

“Err…” Rukia shared a side-glance with her husband. “It’s… alright, I guess?”

“Rukia! This is a _Paphiopedilum fairrieanum_! It’s one of the rarest orchids in the world, show it some respect!”

“Hisana… Are you seriously telling me that you snuck off for two hours alone with –.”

Hisana interrupted her, “It was _not_ two hours.”

“Whatever,” Rukia waved the quibble away.

“No. No, she’s right,” Renji interjected thoughtfully, counting out on his fingers. “It was over three and a half.”

“Was it?” Rukia frowned and started doing her own mental maths, before coming to the same conclusion. “It _was_ , wasn’t it?!”

Hisana balked, cheeks aflame. Was it really?

“So, as I was saying, are you telling me that you spent three and a half hours alone with Japan’s richest, sexiest, most eligible bachelor and you _didn’t_ have sex with him?”

That wasn’t what she said, but Hisana had long ago learned that sometimes it was best to say nothing at all where Rukia was concerned.

“Are we even related?” Rukia looked truly disgusted with her.

“If by that you mean am I a wanton hussy, then, sweet sister, the answer is no. No, I am not.” Actually, it turns out that where Kuchiki Byakuya was concerned that was _exactly_ what she was, but Rukia didn’t need to know that.

* * *

Sat in the car, the newlyweds took a moment to digest what had just come to light.

“Soooo...”

“So.” Rukia drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

“That was-.” Renji didn’t quite know where to cram his limbs.

“- Interesting?”

“Yeah.”

“It was,” Rukia nodded in agreement.

Finally as comfortable as he was ever going to get in this far too small vehicle, he hesitantly posed the question that had been plaguing him for the last hour. “Do, err… Do you think she actually got laid?”

Rukia had that spaced out look of an existential crisis. “At our wedding?”

Renji’s tattoos gave the impression that they were trying to disappear into his hairline. “Yeah.”

“Attila the Nun?”

“Yup.”

“Miss _Would-you-two-stop-having-sex-in-my-goddamn-house_ Goody-Two-Shoes?”

“Mmhhmmm.”

“My sister?”

“That very one, yes.”

Rukia turned to him slowly, her face struggling to contain her thoughts, before the pair finally made eye contact, “You know, I think she actually did.”

Renji’s face was still creased with utter bewilderment as his splayed hands waved in front of him, unable to grasp any sense of his sister-in-law. He respected her immensely, and loved her to bits, but sometimes he just didn’t understand her. “What is it with orchids, though?

Rukia shrugged, shaking her head. “Beats me. At least she’s found someone with…” She trailed off as a look of horror dawned upon her face, a disturbing realisation settling over her. “Oh God,” she whispered, “There’s two of them.”


	2. Sunday 25th January, 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia tries to enlist her sister's dressmaking skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after an unplanned hiatus, I am back. (Long story short, the house is falling to bits, I'm falling to bits, but we're both still standing, so it's not all bad.) Anyway, here's a quickie to get back into the swing of things.
> 
> Oh, and fireman Renji. You're welcome.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“ _Pleeeeease_?”

“No.”

“Come _onnnnnnnnnnn_.”

“No.”

“It’s _my_ wedding.”

Hisana peered over the top of her large tortoiseshell glasses at her sister, eyebrow raised. “It’s _my_ professional reputation.” She was sat on a perching stool, pruning the roots of her bonsai wisteria, ready for repotting.

Rukia was hovering beside the potting bench, clasping a number of bridal magazines. She huffed. “Why are you so boring?”

“Did you want my help or not?”

Rukia scuffed her toe against the wooden bench leg, causing sprinkles of compost to flutter down. “Yes,” she mumbled moodily. Since when had her pushover older sister grown a backbone?

Sensing her younger sister’s despondent mood, Hisana tried to mollify her. “Look, I’m not saying you can’t have your dream dress, I’m just saying that I won’t be making it.” Rukia turned her back on her. “What about Ishida-san? He’s much better at these sorts of things than I am.”

Rukia sniffed and shot her sister a filthy look that screamed _“Liar!”_

Nearly a minute of silence passed between the two before Rukia quietly admitted, “He won’t do it, either.”

“Oh, so what? _I’m_ the back-up plan?” Hisana shrieked in mock outrage.

“Only because I knew you’d say no!” Rukia whipped round defensively, only to find her sister watching and smiling softly at her, her chin resting on her hand, compost smeared across her cheek. It was always so hard to stay mad at Hisana for anything more than three seconds, which in itself was infuriating.

“Come here,” Hisana threw her arms open wide as she summoned her sister for a hug.

Sighing heavily, Rukia shuffled over begrudgingly and allowed Hisana to stroke her hair whilst she buried her face in the crook of her neck. “You think I’m stupid.”

“What?” Hisana looked at her incredulously. “No, darling, I _know_ you’re stupid,” she said, nudging Rukia in the ribs with her elbow.

Aghast, Rukia gave her a look akin to a wounded puppy. Hisana chuckled and sighed, “Look, if it makes you feel any better, Renji’s even _more_ stupid. Imagine being that good looking and choosing to lump it all in with _you_ for the rest of his life!”

Rather than riling her up as was intended, her baby sister just looked more miserable and depressed than ever. “Oh, Rukia. Darling, whatever is the matter? You know I’m only teasing.” Hisana frowned, concerned. “Is this really about the dress?” She stopped short, a dreadful thought suddenly occurring to her. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you? Darling, you don’t have to do this now. You can wait a couple of years; wait until you’ve finished training.”

Rukia regarded her frostily, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? _‘Oh look, Rukia’s done something stupid again, and now she regrets it.’_ ”

Hisana set her glasses aside and got to her feet, “Okay, first of all I have _never_ said anything like that to or about you, _ever_. Nor would I. Secondly, what on earth’s brought all this on?”

Rukia shrugged half-heartedly at her and began picking at her nails. “I don’t know… Do… do you think we’re too young?”

Hisana cupped her younger sister’s cheek with her hand, wiping away the tear that threatened to fall. “I think that you’re young, yes. And if it was anybody else, I’d have my reservations. But it isn’t. It’s you and it’s Renji. Together. You’ll be just fine. It’s what you do. You barrel into things, hell for leather, without any real consideration of the consequences, and somehow, against all odds, you both come out on top and smelling of roses. Why? Because it’s you, and it’s Renji, and you’re _together_. Always.”

Rukia sniffed and smiled weakly, “Really?”

“Really.” Hisana grabbed at one of the discarded magazines and started flicking through the pages. “Besides, being young just means that you have more time to keeping popping out demon childebeests. I’m thoroughly looking forward to playing to the role of the hideous, stingy maiden aunt with atrocious fashion sense and nineteen cats. I’ve been practising, can’t you tell?”

Rukia snorted, “What? For the last twenty three years?” Hisana pointedly started scratching the spot just above her left ear with her middle finger in response.

Rukia pulled herself up onto the potting bench, sitting cross-legged. “I just don’t want to end up like Nel, you know? Married, pregnant, divorced and back together again all in the same year? I can’t be dealing with that kind of drama.”

Hisana blinked and seemingly stalled, unable to compute what her sister had said. “Okay, just to be clear, Nel is a _lovely_ girl, truly, but are you really comparing Renji to _Nnoitra Gilga_? Because if so, for the love all of things sacred, Rukia, do _not_ tell Renji that. That really _is_ grounds for divorce.”

Rukia laughed, as she peered across the page that had drawn her sister’s attention. “No lilies.”

“Hmm?”

“No lilies; we’re getting married, not buried.”

“Ahh. Actually, I was thinking about how long the shoot went on for before the pollen stained the dress. Should have removed the stamens first…”

Rukia scrunched up her nose and began waving her hand in front of Hisana’s face, “Err, hello? Can I have my sister back please? Not the florist?”

“What? I’m just saying an expensive designer dress is practically a magnet for lily pollen.”

“Meh, it would be an improvement.”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s too frilly.”

Hisana looked between the model on the page and her haughty sister. “ _That’s_ too frilly? I thought you wanted a Labyrinth ball gown?”

“Well, that’s not frilly, is it? It’s more… poofy.” She made a dramatic explosive motion with her arms to show just how poofy the dress was. “Plus, I don’t like the… what colour would you say that is?”

“Salmon pink?”

“Yeah, that. I don’t want to look like a sushi roll.”

“Aww.” Hisana pouted before reaching up to pinch her sister’s cheeks, “But you’d make such a cute little makizushi!”

Rukia swatted her away and glared at her. “I hate you. Really.”

“What was that, my little onigiri?”

Hisana may be quick, but Rukia was quicker and she deftly evaded the incoming attack of cheek smooshing. “Remind me why I’m here again.”

“Because I’m your favourite sister.”

“You’re my _only_ sister.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I don’t know why I bother.”

“Because you want me to make your dream Labyrinth wedding a reality.”

Rukia brightened considerably. “You’ll do it?”

“No,” Hisana flat out refused.

“Why not?” Rukia huffed.

“Because you’re too short.”

“What? I’m the same height as you!”

“Exactly!” Hisana reasoned. “I know precisely how short you are.”

“Jennifer Connelly isn’t tall.”

“She’s taller than you. Quite a bit taller than you.”

“So?”

“Rukia, have you seen the size of those sleeves? Each one is bigger than your entire torso! I’m fairly certain that Renji would quite like to see his bride on his wedding day, not just some giant satin meringue.”

Rukia slouched and grunted at her sister.

“Not to mention the fact that I’m not sure you’d be able to move without collapsing under the weight of it.”

“Renji can carry me. He enjoys a workout.”

“I don’t think that’s the sort of workout he’s looking forward to on his wedding night.”

Rukia was suddenly overcome with an extraordinary and uncharacteristic girlishness, biting at her lip and giggling. She was almost unrecognisable. “He came home in his uniform last week.”

Hisana raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What was that? A belated birthday present?”

Rukia grinned suggestively. “He _has_ just got his second stripe. I’d say he’s earned a bonus or three.”

“You two are disgusting, you know that?”

“Pfft. You’re only jealous.”

“What? Of you? Why would I be jealous of you? Just because you’re marrying one delicious hunk of a fireman. Please.”

“He _is_ delicious, isn’t he?” Rukia leant forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Hey, the other night, he actually-.”

Hisana held up a hand. “Stop right there. I don’t want to know.”

Rukia raised her hands, “I’m just sayin’ you should try it.”

Hisana looked at her sceptically, “I’m good, thanks.”

“I could introduce you to some of Renji’s friends.”

Hisana shook her head frantically and began making a slicing motion at her throat, her face one of sheer horror. “I’ve seen Renji’s friends, and no. Nope. Noooooo.”

“Oh come on, they’re not all bad!”

“Iba-san?”

Rukia made to argue before thinking better of it.

“The strutting peacock?”

Rukia clasped her fingers together and pursed her lips.

“ _Madarame_?”

“Okay, okay, okay. I get the point. You don’t need to list them all; we’ll be here all day. ” She picked at some fallen foliage before perking up, “Ooh! What about Izuru? He’s…” Rukia trailed off at her sister’s expression before continuing diplomatically, “… not my type, either.” She shuffled and allowed her legs to hang down before kicking her feet absentmindedly. “I just worry about you, that’s all.”

“Me? What on earth for?”

“You’re always working, and when you’re not working you never come out. You’re just holed up in here thinking about work. It can’t be good for you.”

“What _are_ you talking about? I’m _fine_.”

“Hisana, when I walked in this morning you were singing to a piece of broccoli.”

“So? He was a happy little broccoli! He looked just like… a… mini tree. Don’t look at me like that!”

“Fricking hell, it’s worse than I thought,” Rukia mumbled to herself. Her sister had gone completely doolally.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, sister,” Rukia said airily, “Carry on.”

Hisana harrumphed and glanced at her sibling. “Don’t pull that face, you look just like Mother. You sound like her, too.”

“Yes, well, she was a very wise woman,” Rukia retorted smartly, ignoring Hisana’s spluttering snort of laughter. Rukia continued fiddling with the stray leaves, pulling them to pieces, as she slipped back into a more contemplative mood. “What would Mum think?”

“Of?”

“Us. Renji. The wedding.”

Hisana reached over to stay her sister’s hands. “She’d be delighted. You know she loved Renji; he was always her favourite child.” She cupped Rukia’s cheek in her hand, “As for you, missus, _you’re_ going to be a police officer. She couldn’t be prouder.” She stood and kissed her sister on the nose. “I know I can’t,” she uttered quietly.

Rukia grinned as Hisana turned away and began marching up and down the greenhouse.

“I’d be the perpetual disappointment, of course, facing the impending doom of unending spinsterhood. _‘Why aren’t you married, Hisana? Where are my grandchildren? Soon you’ll be too old to find a decent husband. No one likes an aging virgin.’_ You know how she was. Old school.”

Rukia cackled at her sister’s impression of a nagging old crone. She could clearly remember her Mum harping on at Hisana and her apparent disinterest in the ‘suitable candidates’ she’d bring home under one guise or another. It got to the stage where her sister would reject them purely on principle. She wasn’t sure she’d grown out of the habit. “And what about Dad? What would he say?”

“Hmm…” Hisana tapped her chin in thought. “Well, I think Renji won him over once he realised that he could reach the good stuff on the top shelf at the liquor store, so he’d be happy.”

Rukia knew all of this, of course, but sometimes it was just nice to hear it despite the bittersweet twinge it caused. “You don’t think they’d think we’re too young?”

“Ha!” Hisana barked. “Even if they did, I don’t think Mr and Mrs Teenage-Shotgun-Wedding could say anything. Seriously, Rukia, you’re already three years old than Mum was when she was giving birth to me.” Hisana paused, frowning. “Rukia… has someone said something to you?”

Rukia’s gaze dropped to her feet as she mumbled, “No… it’s just…” She sighed tiredly before finally admitting, “Remember the old man who lives below us? Barragan, or whatever his name is. He was bothering Renji again. And then I came home and made matters worse because _‘no silly little girl should ever be allowed to wear that uniform’_ or whatever and then just started reeling off a list of what he thought was wrong with us, and… yeah.”

Hisana stared at her blankly. “Barragan?” Suddenly her lip curled in disgust as she recalled who he was, “Eurgh. Since when did you start listening to _that_ old goat?”

Rukia shrugged, “I don’t know, it’s just… Something he said really rattled Renji, and I don’t know what it was because he won’t tell me, but it’s just… upsetting, y’know?”

“Yeah, well, just wait until his got screaming babies to contend with, _then_ he’ll have something to moan about.”

Rukia blew a raspberry, “I’m not chaining myself to the cooker just yet, thank you. I’d like Renji to myself for a few more years yet. At least until we’ve made good use of my handcuffs-.”

“WOAH-kayyyy!” Hisana hastily made for the door, hands over her ears.

“Oh my God, you’re _such_ a prude!” Rukia rolled her eyes so much she worried they might fall out.

“LA LA LA LA LAAA!”

Rukia grabbed the pile of magazines and scrambled after her, “Oh, come _onnnnnnnnn_.” Honestly. “Come back! I need to talk to you about cake!”


	3. Sunday 8th November, 1987: The Morning After pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia discovers the true difference between men and women's clothing.

Rukia loved sunglasses. Not _quite_ as much as her husband, but she really was starting to see the appeal. Sure, they were attracting some quizzical looks from passers-by on this grey, miserable morning, but as far as she was concerned they both looked like rock stars. Fucked up, hungover as shit rock stars.

No amount of hair of the dog was going to rectify this mess.

She was glad she’d found and married the love of her life because she swore she was _never_ going to do this _ever_ again.

Renji shuffled back to where she was waiting with their suitcases clutching two polystyrene cups of steaming hot coffee. She didn’t know how he was managing it. Standing upright. Simply the thought of it was making her feel dizzy.

She gave a grunt of thanks as he handed her the beverage. He replied with some nondescript noise of his own. _‘Anytime, babe._ ’ Thankfully, they’d known each other for long enough to understand what the other was saying, even without words.

At least they were both excused from clean-up duties. Hisana had looked utterly _wrecked_ by the time she reappeared at the reception. Kami knows what she’d look like right now.

Rukia winced as an announcement rang out over the loudspeaker calling for passengers to Singapore. She glanced at her watch. Another forty-two minutes and they would be on their way to Taipei. She’d never been on a plane before, and she’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t nervous. Renji wasn’t, of course. But this was a man who ran into burning buildings for a job, so really, his sense of danger was skewed and not to be trusted.

She took a sip of her coffee. “Cripes, Renji, how much sugar did you put in this?”

“Huh?” He looked as alarmed as a half-dead carcass possibly could. “Did you want another one?”

She half-turned away as she shielded her precious drink from his grasp, “No, just wondered.”

Renji resumed his nearly horizontal slouched position as he rested his own cup against his chest. “Dunno,” he yawned, “Lost count after the fifth.”

Rukia swung her legs up on the seat next to her as she rested her back against his shoulder. “Jeez, I won’t have any teeth left by the end of it.”

She felt him shift as he lifted his arm and wrapped it around her. “You looked like you needed it.”

She bristled ever so slightly at the suggestion that she was anxious, mostly because she knew he was absolutely right.

“I still can’t believe that you convinced Shūhei to lend you his jacket.”

“Lend? Who said anything about lending it? He _gave_ it to me. It is mine now.” She fiddled with the zip. “It’s even better because it has _actual pockets_.”

Rukia could feel his bleary-eyed gaze and scrunched up face, “Huh? Wha’d’ya mean? _Your_ jacket has pockets.”

She raised a wagging finger, “Nu-huh. First of all, this _is_ my jacket. And secondly, my other jacket has _pretend_ pockets. These ones are awesome. Look!” She shoved her hand in one to prove her point, before pulling out three scrunched up chocolate bar wrappers, half a packet of chewing gum, two cigarettes, a few coins, and a pen with a chewed lid. “I can fit all sorts of shit in here!”

“Any notes in there?” Renji asked.

She checked the other side, but only managed to fish out a couple of used tissues. “Eww.”

“What about inside?”

“Huh? Insi-? Oh, what?!” It was like she’d won the lottery when she discovered the hidden pouch inside. “How come men get secret pockets? _I_ want secret pockets!”

“Well, now you _have_ secret pockets.”

Rukia was positively gleeful despite the nausea. “I do! What’s in-? Aww, shit! Renji! Look!”

He quickly sobered up when he saw what had been tucked away. “Oi! That fucker told me he was skint just the other day! Just you wait ‘til I see ‘im.” Shaking his head, he settled back into the hard plastic seat. “Welp, that’s dinner for the next week sorted.”

“Week?! Renji, that’s gonna go further than a week!”

“Nope. Babe, it’s fine dining here on out. Make the most of it. Besides, he owes us for being stingy with the wedding present.”


	4. Sunday 8th November, 1987: The Morning After pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Byakuya is... well... Just read it.

It wasn’t so much The Morning After as it was _Twelve-Minutes-to-Three-O’-Clock-in-the-Afternoon After_ before his walking disaster zone of a grandson made an appearance. He looked like an extraordinarily malnourished panda, with his pasty face and dark bags under his eyes. His hair was unbrushed and sticking up at odd angles, he’d barely managed to pull on a pair of slacks, his jumper was skew-whiff, and he was looking very, _very_ sorry for himself. Morose, even.

Ginrei watched as he stumbled over to the fridge, took out some orange juice and downed the thing in one _straight from the carton_. He watched as his grandson went through the motion of making a pot of coffee, clearly more from muscle memory of the actions than any real awareness of what he was actually doing. He watched as he swayed slightly, bracing himself against the kitchen counter with one hand, and attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes with the other, yawning heavily.

He watched as Byakuya picked up the discarded morning newspaper and tried to make sense of the front page, squinting, before giving it up as a bad job and setting it back down. He watched as he poured himself an incredibly large mug of black coffee (some of it even made its way _into_ the mug; a lot of it ended up over his hand, and, in turn, wiped down the top of his trousers). He watched as his near-comatose form heaved itself into a chair at the table, before sitting there and just groaning.

He watched, eyebrow raised, until the moment Byakuya finally realised that there was someone else in the room with him.

Byakuya blinked slowly before leaning forwards on his left elbow, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t.” His voice was hoarse and croaky. “Just… don’t.”

It took a great deal of effort to not burst out laughing, and if anyone asked, Ginrei was immensely proud of how he managed to keep it together, although, if one paid close enough attention, the twitching of his moustache would give the game away. He wondered if there were any disposable cameras lying about, missed and forgotten, and how many sneaky photographs he could take before his grandson noticed. Instead, however, he settled for simply asking, “Good night?”

It had been a good long while since he’d known his grandson to end up completely and utterly rat-arsed. In fact, it may have been the New Year’s Eve party during Byakuya’s first year at university when Shiba Kaien had somehow convinced him to try some _questionable_ edibles. Turned out that his sociability improved drastically with illicit intervention.

The problems started when the drinking started.

They eventually ended about three days later.

The housekeeper earned her wages that week.

Rather than answer his question, Byakuya gave his grandfather and tired and withering, if somewhat pitiful, look.

“Ah well, Saito-san has already been by and finished cleaning up,” Ginrei said. “The cheque should arrive Friday after next.”

Byakuya’s heart rose and then dropped upon the mention of her. She’d been back. She’d been back and now she was gone and he’d missed her. He stared gloomily into the depths of his coffee.

He’d have to track her down himself. Where was it she worked?

Sayo… sayo…Sayonara? No. No, that’s not right. That’s a film. Si… Se…

Ginrei rolled his eyes as Byakuya began muttering to himself. “She seemed like a nice girl,” he said lightly, watching for any reaction.

“Hmm? Yes, very nice,” he replied without thinking. Sel… Sel…

Well, now… Ginrei leant back in his chair and crossed his arms. That _was_ interesting. He cleared his throat loudly, grabbing Byakuya’s attention. “By the way, have you tended to the orchids recently? Today?”

Byakuya instantly frowned. “Why, what’s-?”

“Oh, nothing _drastic_ , but it does appear that one has a very interesting… affliction.”

His grandson’s brows furrowed even further, “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Ginrei shrugged nonchalantly, “You’re the expert; I think it’s best if you take a look yourself.”

Byakuya nodded, “Right. Yes, of course. Yes… right away.”

Ginrei bit down on his tongue and stared resolutely at Byakuya’s forgotten coffee until he was absolutely certain that he was far enough away that he could not be heard before breaking down and sniggering gleefully to himself.

* * *

Clearly something about the indoor garden jogged his memory, foggy as it was, because the second he crossed the threshold, Byakuya blurted aloud, “Serendipity!” Yes. Yes, that was it.

Wait.

Why was he here again?

Oh, yes. Orchids.

Everything _seemed_ to be in order, as he walked along the outer row. Certainly no obvious signs of-.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Fuck.

Byakuya froze.

One of his most treasured varieties, the _Paphiopedilum fairrieanum_ , was… Well, it was…

He glanced back at the door to make sure he was alone. He didn’t know why. His Grandfather clearly already knew.

Interesting affliction, indeed.

Despite himself and his very sorry state, he felt the corners of his lips upturn into a broad, if sheepish, grin.

Not so much an affliction as a souvenir.

A very flimsy, black, lacy souvenir.

A very _serendipitous_ souvenir.

He pocketed the offending article.

For safe keeping.

Obviously.


	5. Saturday 28th March 1987: The Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Further discussions are had about The Dress. Renji most certainly intervenes before things get out of hand. Definitely.
> 
> Fantastic artwork courtesy of the wonderful Polynya. Go and show that lady some love because she absolutely deserves it.

Contrary to popular belief, Abarai Renji did not like conflict. Just because he _looked_ like a Yakuza hoodlum didn’t mean he actually was one. (Similarly, just because someone _didn’t_ look like a Yakuza hoodlum, it didn’t mean that they weren’t one. Take the kindly old fishmonger down at the open market. Renji knew for a _fact_ that he was running some kind of gambling ring down the back alley of the gym on Wednesdays, and nothing Rukia said would ever change his mind.)

He disliked conflict even less when it involved the two women who were nearest and dearest to him, especially when they were both trying to _drag him into it_.

“Renji, for the love of King Jareth’s holy codpiece, would you _please_ talk some sense in to your wife-to-be?” Hisana implored as she marched on ahead as quickly as possible.

“Renji, would you tell the dressmaker that it’s _my_ wedding, and that means that _I_ get to choose the dress?!” Rukia was matching the pace of her elder sister, both pairs of legs going nineteen to the dozen. Renji peered about to see if anyone else had spotted how ridiculous they looked. If they were four inches taller, they’d probably be covering a lot of ground, but they weren’t, and Renji looked like he was out for a casual stroll despite the fact that he was nearly tripping over them.

They came to an abrupt halt as they reached Hisana’s place of work.

He’d feel bad the bullying, but Hisana wasn’t a man about to be coerced into wearing indecently tight-fitting legwear on the most photographed day of his life. She should just suck it up. And he really wished she wouldn’t mention codpieces; it was just going to give Rukia _ideas_.

He gave a deep and heavy sigh.

He instantly regretted it.

Rukia swatted him hard in the stomach. “I said, _‘Don’t you, Renji?’_ ”, she snarled at him through gritted teeth.

He spluttered and rub the back of his neck awkwardly, “Err… Yes?”

Rukia glared at him.

He coughed and thumped at his chest, as though he’d got something stuck in his throat. “I mean- ahem- Yes! Yes, of course I do. Absolutely.” He nodded enthusiastically to prove his point.

Rukia’s fearsome visage immediately changed into something much, _much_ more pleasant as she turned back to her sister, arms crossed and nose raised in defiant victory. “See!”

Hisana’s mouth dropped open in disbelief as she gaped at him incredulously. He was pointedly staring over her head. She rolled her eyes and shifted her unblinking gaze back to Rukia’s smirking face.

Taking a few seconds, inhaling slowly, nostrils flared, Hisana finally made up her mind. “ _No_.”

Unwilling to watch the smile fade from Rukia’s face, with her quivering bottom lip and her hands balled into fists, Hisana uttered quietly, “I have work,” and left the couple standing in the street.

If she thought that this signalled the end of this argument she was sorely mistaken; Rukia was on one this morning. She’d already turfed him out of bed far earlier than necessary, using less than pleasurable means. And, to be honest, Renji didn’t understand why Hisana was putting up such a fight. She knew how this was going to end. They all knew how this was going to end. Her fate was sealed the second she agreed to make The Dress.

Rukia, by all accounts, puffed up with absolute indignation and stormed into the shop after her sister, crashing through the door, its little bell twinkling in her wake.

Renji winced, braced himself for battle and cautiously followed her, promising to himself that he most certainly would intervene before things got out of hand. Definitely.

Turned out, he needn’t have worried, because stood right in the centre of the shop floor stood a woman with a gentle and placid demeanour, with her motherly smile and soft spoken words.

He’d never quite understood why Hisana was so completely and utterly enthralled by, but also equally _terrified_ of, her manager. That was, until this precise moment.

Unohana Retsu. A matronly woman that Hisana had assured him, on more than one occasion, should _never_ be allowed anywhere near sharp pointy implements, such as secateurs and garden snips, and much less allowed to work with them on a daily basis.

“- Oh, how delightful, Saito-san!” Unohana-san was saying to his beloved in a most indulgent tone, “Do you have any idea what sort of dress you’d like?”

Rukia was positively triumphant. “It’s been so difficult to choose, there are so many beautiful dresses out there, but I _really_ love- have you seen Labyrinth? You know, with David Bowie?” she gushed with the excessively girlish manner she always used to lay on thick to bullshit teachers and peers whenever she was up to something. “Well, I simply _adore_ Sarah’s ball gown, but I don’t know if… maybe it wouldn’t suit me? I’m not sure if the sleeves are too big, or if it’s too… too… poofy? I mean… well, what do you think, Unohana-san?” Rukia flattened out the film poster she had been fawning over for the past four months across the counter.

“Oh my. Oh, that’s _beautiful_ , Saito-san. Oh, you’d look so lovely. Don’t you think she’d look lovely, Hisana?” He couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something, pure instinct perhaps, that told him you did not argue with Unohana Retsu.

Renji recognised that petrified look in Hisana’s eyes; that fixed smile. It was one he’d worn more than once when caught in one of Rukia’s masterful webs of manipulation. She nodded meekly in agreement. “Lovely, yes…” He also recognised that gleam when she passed a look in his direction. It was one that told him in no uncertain terms that she was going to murder him in his sleep.

“And I’ve seen Hisana’s skill with needlecraft. I have no doubt that she’ll be able to adapt any pattern to perfectly suit your frame, dear,” Unohana-san assured Rukia. “She often helps with the bridal wear and accessories.”

The doorbell chimed once more as the shop’s overarching proprietor stepped in and joined them. A tall, slender woman; all sleek lines with an ornate golden ornament pinning her hair in place.

If Renji was uneasy in the presence of Unohana Retsu, it was _nothing_ compared to how he felt as the newcomer eyed him intently. The murderous gleam in his future sister-in-law’s eyes had also become positively wicked.

“Shutara-san! You’re just in time!” Hisana was suddenly beaming. “My sister here is getting married; a Labyrinth-style affair. I’ve agreed to make the dress, because… well, you know… _budget_ , but you know I’m not so-.”

“A Labyrinth-style affair, you say?” she interrupted. “Who’s playing Jareth?” She glanced leeringly at Renji.

He swallowed nervously. It suddenly occurred to him that if Hisana was going down, so was he.

Hisana clutched at her chest, “Funny you should ask that. You know I’m not so hot with men’s formal wear, and Renji here needs a fitting!” She blinked innocently at him as her mentor stalked towards him, pulling a tape measure out from where it was tucked in her bra.

He gulped.

Hisana wasn’t going to murder him in his sleep.

She was going to feed him to the sharks.


	6. Saturday 14th November 1987: One Week Later pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisana is in turmoil.

Hisana couldn’t really describe how she felt other than a bit weird. Physically, she felt exactly the same. Her hips and legs had ached a bit, sure, but she certainly _looked_ exactly the same. But the clarity that Monday morning brought with it left her feeling a little… flat. She didn’t feel any more womanly, no more desirable. There had been no epiphany; no life changing, monumental shift in her being. There wasn’t a before and after, there was just Hisana and a thing that had happened.

Truth be told, she was feeling a bit ashamed of herself. She didn’t regret it per se, it was just the manner in which she’d done it. It was less to do with the ‘who’, and more to do with the ‘when’ and ‘where’. She’d snuck off with someone who was practically a stranger (albeit an incredibly attractive stranger), done the deed ( _twice_ ) and then gone back and acted like nothing had happened. _At her sister’s wedding_.

To make matters worse, it was only after she got home and stumbled into the bathroom with the intention of relieving herself that she realised why things were feeling a bit draughty downstairs. Just how much had she had to drink to not realise that she was missing an essential piece of her attire? Had he taken them as some sort of souvenir? Did he have a secret collection of underwear from women that he’d bedded? Or was it one that he boasted about to his friends? Was she even someone that he’d _want_ to boast about?

She doubted it.

Honestly, once the initial disappointment that he wasn’t ‘available’ on the Sunday had worn off, she was actually glad that she hadn’t seen him upon her return to the manor. She didn’t think she could contend with the embarrassment of facing him in the cold light of day; of him seeing her and realising just how far he’d let his standards drop the night before.

Maybe the reason she felt so underwhelmed with it now was because there was something wrong with her; romantic endeavours had never been high on her priority list. Maybe… Maybe she’d been bad at it. Maybe she was just faulty goods, lacking a vital part of her femininity.

Once or twice she’d caught herself daydreaming about him and the way he had looked at her with that smouldering gaze, that arrogant, predatory smirk. The way he’d teased her bottom lip as he kissed her. That low, guttural moan as he…

Ultimately, she decided that no good would come of constantly mulling over the fairy tale that could have been. It was done. It had happened. She just had to get on with life.

And so she pushed the whole thing aside, stored in a little box at the back of a recess in her mind and did just that. He wouldn’t be thinking of her, and she refused to mope over him. That was the plan, at least. And for the most part, it worked.

It was early on the following Thursday evening, standing in the queue at the pharmacy waiting to purchase a box of Chappy-themed plasters, that the whole thing came flooding down over her, like a tsunami of icy water.

Her eyes had been drawn to a display of small, brightly coloured toys; hard plastic teething rings and rattles, a collection of safari animals, and an adorable patchwork bunny blanket. At first, she thought nothing of it and her eyes continued wondering across the store, but as she was called forward by the cashier it suddenly struck.

Did they..?

The first time, they did. Absolutely. She was sure of it. But the second time? In the indoor garden?

That had been rather more… impromptu.

What if she was...?

She couldn’t be.

Well, if she was, there was literally nothing she could do about it. Not yet, at least. All she could do was wait until enough time had passed for a test.

Throughout recent years, she’d heard Rukia’s rant about contraception more than once. She’d never really paid much heed to it before now. She hadn’t needed to. But Rukia was right. How was it that, in a country as highly developed as theirs, the contraceptive pill was yet to be made available? It was 1987, for goodness sake!

She’d stood in front of the bathroom mirror inspecting every single thing about her appearance, looking for signs of change; anything that might give a definitive yes or no answer. Surely she would _know_? Surely there would be some kind of instinctive alarm bell? What if that was what this was? The mere fact that the thought she might be pregnant had even occurred to her was it. This _was_ the alarm bell.

The phone was ringing. She barely noticed. By the time she did, they’d rang off.

She didn’t eat that night. She didn’t sleep much either.

Friday continued in much the same manner.

By Saturday morning, she was a certifiable, irritable grump. No one was saying anything to her, but she _knew_ her colleagues were watching her warily, sharing looks behind her back. Poor Isane had been positively shaken after she’d snapped at her over something utterly trivial, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologise. That would involve admitting that she _had a problem_ , and she’d already resolved to forget about what had happened. To forget about _him_.

Which was unfortunate, because now she couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.

She was wavering between wanting to pretend the whole thing had never happened and that he didn’t exist, and a desperate desire to see him. Whether it was a desperate desire to see him and give him a piece of her mind (because, really, how _dare_ he do this to her?), or a desperate desire to see him to let him have his wicked way with her all over again, she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Ow!” She picked at her finger where a thorn from an especially vicious rose had broken the skin and got stuck. Taking a moment to collect herself, she forced herself to lay the flower down gently and step away, when really all she wanted to do with smash something. Repeatedly.

Squeezing the tip of her finger to try and ease the thorn out, she scurried out the back in search of the plasters stashed away in her handbag. She washed the wound, and had just finished affixing the adhesive strip when Chappy’s smiling face brought tsunami flooding back.

It started off as a trickle. A single tear escaping as she squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to stop it. She gripped the edge of the basin, knuckles turning white. But it wasn’t enough. That lone tear was soon joined by another. And another. And another. Until there was no holding back.

Isane flew to her side, box of tissues in hand. “Ohh, Hisana-san, whatever’s the matter?”

She was being irrational and she hated it. It was far more likely than not that she was worrying over absolutely nothing, but she couldn’t help it. How could she have been so stupid? How many times had she berated Rukia over the importance of _being careful_? She really was just a lousy hypocrite.

Pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, the sobs finally subsided. She gratefully took a handful of tissues and started to clean herself up.

“Would tea help? I can put the kettle on,” Isane offered.

Hisana smiled weakly at her. She really was such a sweet girl. “No, Isane. No, I… I’m sorry.” She glanced over to the clock. “I think I’ll take an early lunch. Go for a walk. Clear my head a bit.” She scanned the room, trying to retrace her steps to remember what she was doing before this whole kerfuffle started. “Would you mind finishing up the roses for me?”

“O- Of course. I can do that. I can…” Isane noticed Hisana’s bag still sat on the chair. Her coat was still hanging from the hook on the back of the door. “Hisana-san! Hisana-san, you’ve left your-. Oh.”

She’d gone.

“Leave it, Isane,” Unohana said softly, but firmly from behind a delicate spiralling arrangement of rust-coloured chrysanthemums. “She’ll be okay.”

Shutara was leaning back on her elbows at the counter, inches away from the abandoned rose, smiling wryly. “I wonder who he is,” she commented offhandedly.

“Huh?” Isane’s eyes widened as she stood in the centre of the shop floor, awkwardly grasping Hisana’s coat.

“Indeed,” Unohana concurred. “Indeed.”

* * *

Bracing. The bitter wind was incredibly bracing, Hisana decided, as she strode past the grocers. It was exactly the sort of weather that was good for blowing away the cobwebs, as her Mum would say.

A small, bratty, red-haired boy nearly crashed into her as he chased after an equally small, wailing girl with her dark hair in pigtails. He was attempting to bash her over the head with a broom, and probably would have succeeded had Hisana not got in the way. In many respects, they reminded her of a young Renji and Rukia, although, in this scenario, they would both be brandishing brooms and it would be highly unlikely that either of them would stop simply because a grown-up had appeared.

The girl had quite wisely used the split second reprieve to make her get away and vanished into the store. Hisana chuckled to herself as she could hear the boy cursing after her.

She briefly wondered what sort of adventures they were having in Taipei, and whether or not Renji was beginning to regret his judgement in entrusting Rukia with being the translator. Tricking him into eating something either ridiculously spicy or highly questionable would never not be funny to Rukia, no matter how much she loved him.

She walked by a magazine stand and crossed the street, where she was greeted by aging posters from Madonna’s _Who’s That Girl_ tour concert. Ohhh, that was fun, even if she did maintain that Rukia owed her a soul after she’d sold hers getting front row tickets. Still, it wasn’t every day that your baby sister turned twenty-one.

Echoes from _Papa Don’t Preach_ rang through her mind. ‘ _Oh, shut up,’_ she grumbled at herself.

At least she’d already started work on Rukia’s Labyrinth dress by the time June rolled around, otherwise she’d have been requesting something akin to the pink monstrosity that was the Material Girl costume.

Kami knows what she was going to get Rukia for her next birthday, especially now that she had finally managed to acquire a genuine leather jacket. She hoped Hisagi wasn’t expecting it back any time soon.

Before she knew it, Hisana had almost come full circle and was nearly back at the shop. She’d passed Mashiba Middle School and was halfway through the park before she realised just how cold she actually was. She held her cardigan just a little bit tighter about her person and tucked her hands in her underarms. She might just take Isane up on that offer of a hot drink when she returned.

Feeling considerably calmer, if a lot colder, than before she left, Hisana took one last steadying breath as she re-entered the shop, rubbing her hands together to stimulate the circulation.

And then she froze.

Metaphorically speaking, of course, but it may as well have been literal with how glacial her expression turned.

“Oh good. You’re back. I can’t decide between the pewter and porpoise. What do you think, Hisana?

There, beyond the floral arrangements and the partitioning half-wall, positively _parading_ about the menswear section without a care in the world, was a _half-naked_ Kuchiki Byakuya. And, unlike the three other women, Hisana was decidedly _not impressed_.

“I think you’re going to get a chill, Kuchiki-sama. Excuse me.” Hisana marched primly straight through to the back, otherwise refusing to acknowledge him. She wanted to be in control of herself and the last thing she needed right now was to be distracted by his shirtless form. It did strange things to her.

* * *

Byakuya’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline so sharply, he felt like he’d almost lost them. Just as rapidly, they descended into a deep frown.

It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had given him the cold shoulder, but usually they at least waited until _after_ he refused to allow them turn his home into something resembling another of Imelda Marcos’ storage facilities.

“I…” He was, frankly, baffled. And slightly unnerved by the tailor’s sudden interest in sizing up multiple pairs of extraordinarily large, shiny, and very sharp looking scissors. He wasn’t entirely sure that the way she was menacingly opening and closing the blades was completely necessary, either.

* * *

Hisana was freaking out. Silently, of course, she wasn’t a complete drama queen, but there was a notable amount of arm flapping. _Why was he even here?_

The thought that he could have turned up simply because he wanted to see her didn’t even occur to her. Why would he? He’d made himself quite clear on Sunday by being ‘unavailable’. He could have _anyone he wanted, when he wanted_. She was a one-time fling. He certainly wasn’t about to settle for someone as plain as her?

Had they broken something valuable? Was there irreparable damage to the property that she’d missed? Had someone stolen something? Did he-?

Oh Kami. _The money_. He was here for the money. She thought that they’d agreed that the payment could come next week. She didn’t get paid until Thursday. Hadn’t she explained this? _What was she going to do?_ She couldn’t magic cash out of thin air. She was already living on bread and iffit for the next the week (If it’s in the cupboard, you can have it; if it’s not, you can’t.) She still had the electric to pay off. And the cat to feed. He’d be leaving home if he had to go another day without prawns.

She could feel her Mum’s despairing headshake. She’d probably find the whole thing highly amusing. (Well, maybe not Emperor going without his prawns. Su-Mei had to draw the line _somewhere_ , and depriving her precious Persian of his treats would most certainly be it.)

Still, she had to do something. And hiding back here wasn’t going to make him go away. She scrambled for her purse. _Sorry, Emperor_ , she thought glumly, _looks like you’ll be packing your bags_. ¥10,000 was hardly going to cover it, but at least it was something. _Yeah, like that utilities bill._

She sighed deeply. _Here goes nothing_.


	7. Saturday 14th November 1987: One Week Later pt. 2

Hisana was pleased to note that by the time she walked back through, Byakuya was fully dressed (at least, that’s what she told herself). Although there did seem to be some kind of weird, silent stand-off between him and her managers, with Isane watching anxiously.

She cleared her throat hesitantly, “I… errr… Ahem.” She tried to quash the increasingly familiar swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach as he seemed to be buoyed by her sudden reappearance.

Her colleagues cottoned on quick and soon found themselves having to urgently attend to matters elsewhere, leaving her alone with the source of her ongoing anguish.

Byakuya reached out a hand to her and she thrust the paltry pile of notes into it, apologising profusely, her head bent and refusing to look him in the eye. He probably would have found the whole thing quite entertaining if he’d had the faintest clue what she was gibbering on about.

“What’s this?” he asked, staring down at the money in his hand, nonplussed.

Hisana spluttered, “Well, it… it’s the money. I mean it’s not the full amount, but… I don’t… I don’t get paid until… I thought we’d agreed on next week, but obviously not. I’m ever so sorry, really, I am, but it’s just… It’s… It’s all I can give you at the moment.” She fell silent, eyes glued to the ground.

When there was no response, she risked a tentative glance upwards.

He was looking impassively at her.

She swallowed and licked her lips. Her mouth had gone dry and her throat constricted. She clasped her hands tightly together. He was angry with her, she just knew it. Well, she could be angry with him, too. It’s not like it would kill him to wait a few more days. He was hardly going to go bankrupt without it. And, for another thing, he-.

“I don’t want it.”

What?

“Look, Kuchiki-sama, I know it’s not the full amount, but I really can’t give you the rest until next Thursday,” the words spilled out of Hisana’s mouth in a jumble.

“I don’t want that, either.”

Hisana stalled. “I… But… That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? The money?”

He blinked at her before answering. “No.” Inspecting her visage, he started to frown. “Are you feeling alright?”

“What? Yes, I’m fine.” She swatted his hand away when he tried to press the notes back into hers. “Well, why are you here? If not for the money?” She puffed and flicked an errant lock of hair from her face.

Byakuya was confused. Had she forgotten about what happened between them? Or had he dreamt it? “Why do you think I’m here?”

“Err…” Every worst case scenario flashed through Hisana’s mind. “Because we broke something?” She paled. “Oh Kami, we broke something irreplaceable didn’t we?” The annoying stray curl fell back over her eye.

“No. Well, probably, but that’s not why I’m here.” He reached over and tucked it behind her ear again, concerned. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Hisana nodded mutely.

He sighed and returned to perusing though various silk ties, highly conscious that they were being watched. “I came to see you,” he uttered quietly.

“Oh.” A few seconds later the penny dropped. _Ohh_. She wrung her hands nervously.

“I tried to call earlier in the week, but there was no answer,” he explained.

“Oh.” Something akin to hope seemed to blossom within her chest. “I didn’t think you wanted to see me again,” Hisana admitted softly.

“Why on earth would you think that?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, it’s just… Sunday you were… _unavailable_. I thought that meant… you know…”

Byakuya paused for a moment. “I can see how that could be misconstrued.” He peered at her doubtful mien before confessing reluctantly, “I was not fit for present company.” He saw she remained unconvinced. “I was hungover. _Very_ hungover,” he added with a pained expression.

A quiet high pitched squeaking noise started emanating from somewhere, and it took Byakuya a few seconds before he realised it was coming from Hisana, who was now donning a peculiarly scrunched up face whilst holding her tightly balled fists to her cheeks.

Initially, he was alarmed, especially when her shoulders started to shake. Crying females were always tricky and troublesome and he really didn’t know what to do with them. He tried to catch the eye of one of her colleagues, but each of them was making a remarkable show of diligently working on things such as filing their nails, or scrubbing at an invisible stain on the counter, or polishing the leaves of a bird’s nest fern hanging in a Kokedama, and all of them most definitely not eavesdropping.

And then it occurred to him that maybe she wasn’t crying at all but laughing, and that didn’t make him feel much better. Was she laughing at him? Was she winding him up?

On the plus side, she didn’t really seem to know what she was doing either as she covered her entire face with her hands in crippling embarrassment.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go _at all_. She was supposed to be all business, all professional and detached. And then _he_ comes along and starts being all nice and unsure and it was making her all mushy and really she could be doing without all of this emotional turmoil because it was going to make her cry again and she wasn’t very attractive when she cried and it wouldn’t normally be a problem but he was here and suddenly being attractive was very important to her and she was going to be all snotty and hiccuppy and he was going to think she was disgusting and-.

“Hisana?”

She peeked at him through her fingers.

“Did you hit your head this morning?”

She started squeaking again.

Concern aside, Byakuya had to admit that he was impressed. He didn’t think he’d ever met someone who could actually use the whistle register before, but Hisana could apparently do so with ease. If only there was a way to get her to stop _before_ all the dogs in Tokyo stormed the place.

“I brought you something.” That seemed to work. Women always did like gifts.

No.

She just had hiccups.

She was staring dolefully up at him.

She had such pretty eyes. He just wished that they weren’t quite so wet.

Byakuya made to brush her cheek with the back of his knuckles before remembering himself and those spying on them. Gently he guided towards the front of the shop, behind a rack of beautiful silks in every colour imaginable, and away from prying eyes.

He swept her hair from her face again. “You seem to be in a spot of bother, Hisana.”

She almost choked the bubble of laughter that erupted. _Ohh, he had no idea._ She bit down so hard on her lip she could have sworn that she tasted blood. His touch lingered far too long for simply a friendly gesture; too long, too hot, too tender. Unwittingly, she found herself leaning into it.

“When do you finish?” The low murmur of his voice caused her eyes to flutter open in surprise. “I have a table booked for eight; I was just wondering if that gives you enough time.”

Hisana seemed hesitant to answer. Dazed, even. Byakuya wondered whether she really _had_ hit her head.

“Unless of course, you already have plans for this evening. Or you don’t want to come.” He said a silent prayer that neither of these things were the case, and when she started to shake her head, he felt himself deflate and he drew his hand away. “I see. Well, I’ll just-.”

She suddenly clasped onto his hand as she fervently tried to explain between sporadic hiccups, “No. No, no, no, no. No, I mean that I don’t have any… - _hic_ \- … Are..? Are you asking me out on… _–hic-_ … like… a date?”

If one looked closely enough, they would see the slightest upturn of the corners of his mouth. With a wry smile and all the quiet, if good-humoured, patience that a long-suffering parent might use on a tiresome child he clarified, “No, I am asking you out on an _actual_ date, and am awaiting your response.”

“Oh.” As his words sunk in, a light blush bloomed upon Hisana’s cheeks. “O-okay.” She nodded coyly whilst staring fixedly at her feet, hands locked together.

Byakuya couldn’t help but think that for all of her silliness, she really was quite endearing. Which was just as well because he was putting an awful lot of effort into this. Seats at _Sukiyabashi Jiro_ were notoriously difficult to come by and he’d had to weigh in on several connections and pull a number of strings to do so for this evening.

Now he was thought about it, there really was thrill in the chase. Normally, he spent this part of a relationship trying to fling off annoying limpets. This was somewhat refreshing. Scratch that. It was _terrifying_. No wonder he needed half a bottle of whisky last Saturday.

“This is for you, by the way.” He picked up a box, no larger than six by twelve inches, which had been placed carefully on the mink velvet chaise lounge.

“Hmm? But… What for?” she asked, flummoxed.

“Bribery.” Her eyes widened at his words. The box would have fallen from her tentative grip had Byakuya not caught it in time. “Careful; it’s fragile. You know, you had me worried for a second. I thought I might have to use it.”

“Well, what is it?”

Byakuya was pulling a scarf about his neck and reaching for his coat. “Open it and see.”

It was typical that just as Hisana seemed to find her voice again, he was heading for the door. “Wait-.” She trailed after him.

“I’ll see you later.”

Did he have to have such long strides? “Wait, Byaku-.”

“Seven o’ clock.”

His hand was on the door when he stopped short. She almost careened straight into his back.

“Hisana?” He tilted his head to the side, but refrained from facing her. “Try not to concuss yourself again.”

“Oh… right.” By the time she’d fully comprehended what he just said he’d gone. She began mumbling to herself as she retreated to the back of the shop, a mocking imitation of her visitor. “Try not to concuss yourself. What a git.”

As she reached the till counter, she saw three pairs of eyes looking at her with varying levels of pain and bewilderment. “What?” She brushed past them haughtily. “I thought I handled that rather well.”


	8. Sunday 8th November, 1987: The Honeymoon Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember that time when a certain someone casually waved their 'personal massager' around in front of an innocent teenage boy after he found her lurking in his closet? (He was a 15 year old high school student, I believe. I'm not sure. They didn't make that clear.) 
> 
> Anyway, she's a married woman now, don't you know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was going to happen eventually, and my only defence to writing this is that I never said it was any good. So here it is. Gratuitous smut from TGF. I can only apologise.
> 
> (Please be gentle; it's my first time. Or something.)

Renji was thinking; a dangerous pastime he knew, but this is what happens when your wife leaves you to shower alone on your honeymoon. He was more than a little cheesed off, to be honest. Is this what they meant when they said that the second a woman is married she loses all sexual inclination? Whoever ‘they’ were. Disgruntled, sexless husbands, probably.

It was fine. He could handle it. He’d just retaliate in kind the next time _she_ was horny and desperate for release.

Not only had she made him shower alone, but she’d also stolen all of the hot water by going in first. It was probably a deliberate move on her part. He had hoped that she’d spent so long in the bathroom because she was going to surprise him with some slinky bridal lingerie, but no. No, she reappeared in her old yellow checked, flannel pyjamas.

Renji huffed, rinsed the last of the bubbles from his hair, and gave one final splash of cold water to his face.

Maybe she was still hungover, he thought as he wrung the excess water from his hair. Yes, that was probably it, he decided, giving her the benefit of the doubt. It had been a long couple of days, after all. Maybe they should shuffle their itinerary so they both had a full day to properly recuperate.

Having finished brushing his teeth, he nudged open the door to the bedroom, securing the towel around his waist, when his brain decided to malfunction.

In fact, blood flew south so quickly he had to grasp onto the doorframe to stop himself from falling to the floor with the towel.

There, at the foot of the bed, perched his beloved wife, his Rukia, eyes closed and with her legs spread wide.

The pyjamas had gone. In their place, skimpy white lace. Stockings. A garter and its pale blue bow adorned her right thigh. Suspender belt. Small fingerless gloves. Her perky breasts encased in what she had reliably informed him was a demi bra. She’d conveniently foregone any panties.

Her lips were stained deep red. Her nails were a perfect match. The colour was somewhat at odds with the virginal white. It was the sort of colour that would be labelled with names such as ‘scandalous’, or ‘temptress’.

He loved it.

She hummed as her right hand traced and swirled its way down her subtle curves, rolling her head back ever so slightly as her fingers danced past her most sensitive point and continued along her inner thigh.

He flexed his fingers as he made ready to pounce.

“Ah, ah!” She shook her head at him and pointed to the floor. “ _On your knees, Loverboy_.” Her voice was low and husky. _Sexy_. None of that high pitched, girlish simpering bullshit, oh no. This was a woman who knew what she wanted, and who knew exactly how to get it.

He instantly complied, crawling towards her, stopping only when she lifted and extended her left foot in front of her, her toes delicately pressing against his forehead. His grin turned feral as the line of her leg led his gaze straight to her glistening pussy. He could barely take his eyes from it, even as his raised his chin to run his tongue along the arch of her foot. She quickly retracted it before he could begin sucking on her toes.

“No touching.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. Probably because he knew he would be rewarded for his patience later.

Rukia smirked at him, the tip of her tongue just visible from between her teeth, as her fingers skittered back to the juncture between her legs.

Her body seemed to quiver as she appraised the man before her. Everything about him was just so… _primal_. Animalistic. Unashamedly so, too. She could feel herself growing wetter just looking at him; thinking about how it felt when he fucked her, hard and raw.

He could be soft, too. Softer than she ever could. But she didn’t want soft tonight. She didn’t want him to be gentle. She didn’t want him to hold back. She wanted to _feel_ it. Feel the burn of his untempered heat, his unbridled strength; his muscles slick with sweat, and the roar of blood coursing through his veins so loud that it echoed in her own.

She wanted him to ruin her over and over and over again.

Her back arched as the coil snapped, rippling outwards from her core. She pinched her left nipple tightly as she rode out her release, the circling of her right index finger on her clitoris slowing to a halt.

It was just a small one, the first wave of what was to come. She still had plenty to give.

Her eyes wandered hazily across her husband. His long hair, freshly washed and still damp, hung loose about his shoulders, tiny rivulets of water meandering alongside the tribal tattoos down his chest. She would follow their path her with tongue. But not yet.

He could wait.

She would make him.

She watched him watching her, his cock twitching as she coated her fingers in the pearlescent liquid that he hungered for. A thin ribbon followed as she pulled them away, she was so fucking wet. Renji’s nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, trying to catch the scent of her, his senses invaded with the deep, heady waft of her Dior Poison perfume.

Her eyes locked with his as she brought her fingers to her mouth, licking slowly from root to tip, one then two, before sucking them both lasciviously. A promise of what she was going to do to him.

Her fingers skimmed down her throat as they meandered a path back to her clitoris, meanwhile Renji’s inched towards his throbbing cock.

“I said _no touching_ ,” Rukia nudged his hand away with her foot.

“Ru, please…” he implored croakily. He was so hard, it was painful, and he wasn’t sure he could last much longer.

“Abarai Fukutaichō,” she teased in a song-song voice, using his newly acquired title, “am I going to have to use these?” She reached behind her.

_Ohhh, holy shit_.

She’d brought handcuffs. Proper ones, not some cheap, knock-off gimmicky sex toy. These were the real deal. She must have _borrowed_ them from work. Just when he thought it was genuinely physically impossible to get any more aroused.

There was an awful lot to be said for a tiny, beautiful woman in control of a pair of handcuffs.

Especially when she was your _wife_.

His defiant, feral, leering grin returned as she quite literally twisted both of his arms behind his back. She might be in control now, but she’d be compelled to take them off at some point, and when she did...

It was only when she was behind him, locking the aforementioned cuffs in place, that he noticed the garish violet silicone on the bed. It lay next to her trusty massager, an old friend if ever there was one.

Is this why her case was so damned heavy? It was full of sex toys? Had she brought _any_ clothes? Not that he was going to complain if she hadn’t, she looked quite perfect without them, but a naked Rukia did things to his self-control and he wasn’t sure he’d survive the fortnight if this were true. At the very least, his dick was liable to fall off.

Still, the purple thing was new, and he was intrigued.

Suddenly, she was in front of him again, leaning across the bed to retrieve it.

He half-groaned and half-sighed at the view. The view was heavenly. This was it. He had died. He had died and gone to heaven. Clearly he’d saved enough kittens from trees and dodgy guttering to be rewarded with this fate. She was so close. If he could just shuffle forward a little, he’d be able to shove his face right in there. He was tempted, but there was also the risk of him losing balance and breaking his nose before he’d even hit home.

Rukia looked back over her shoulder and gave him a saucy little wiggle. He growled in response.

She laughed as she hopped onto the bed, settling in a cross-legged position and picked up her new acquisition.

Renji was torn between looking at his wife and trying to work out what the hell she was holding. Well, it was pretty clear what it _was_ , but…

“Is that a _rabbit_?”

Rukia looked up at his voice. “Hmm? Oh. Yes.” She was frowning as she tried to work out the settings on the separate attachment.

“On a vibrator?” Renji was somewhat bemused. It wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. There were seemingly two parts to it. The first was a narrow silver cylinder, and connected to it by a thin cable was the fun bit. “Only you could find a vibrator with a rab-. Woah!”

The thing suddenly buzzed to life. Specifically, there was a part halfway down the phallic section that was filled with pearl-like beads that started _rotating_.

“I, err… I hope you don’t expect me to do that,” Renji laughed nervously. He may have been bigger than the toy, but he didn’t think he’d be able to add ‘rotating penile shaft’ to his CV any time soon. It’d be fun if he could, though.

Rukia snorted at him as she slid the first switch off and the second switch on. If Renji was impressed by rotating purple phalluses, it was nothing to he felt when the rabbit itself whirred into action, its ears a blur.

Her eyes lit up as she returned to her earlier position. “ _Oh_ ,” she whispered breathily as she ran it over her lace-clad breast and down her body. “ _Ohhh_.”

The rabbit may be smaller than the Hitachi, but that just meant it was that much more precise. And with the ears positioned just so, either side of her clit, that precision was rapidly steering Rukia towards another climax, and if Renji had still retained the power of independent thought he would have realised how torturous a predicament he was in. As it was, however, he was completely mesmerised by every twitch, every shiver.

Rukia had always been an intense lover, demanding even, and it was always incredible to watch as she pushed herself to the limit and over the edge. Her lithe muscles taut and her back arched, her pale skin flushed and her breasts swollen with desire; each wave crashing with an increasing crescendo.

Maybe other men would have been intimidated by her intensity. Indeed, there had been those who had been fooled by her public aloofness, that frosty façade of indifference. Or maybe it was simply her diminutive frame and delicate, innocent visage that belied her wildness. Others had believed that they could tame her, like she was some kind of pet to be trained into submission. But why would you want to when you could have this? Yes, she was demanding, but she was also generous and exciting and fun and as equally invested in his pleasure as her own.

She was perfect.

Renji knew he was leaking precum like a geyser. He also knew that Rukia was preparing herself for him and that she had every intention of breaking through any semblance of a refractory period that his body may think of having. He could tell by the fierce glint in her eyes and the way she bit her lip as her gaze travelled down his body.

Suddenly, she was knelt before him, her mouth a hair’s breadth away as she softly blew on his frenulum.

“Rukia…” he whispered hoarsely as he shuddered involuntarily, struggling against his restraints.

Eyes wide as she peered up at him like butter wouldn’t melt. And maybe it wouldn’t. But he would. And did. Every time. Especially when she drew her tongue ever so slowly, inch by inch, up and down the entire length of his shaft in a gentle spiralling pattern like this.

Renji shuffled awkwardly and impatiently, simultaneously fighting and desperate for relief. Rukia chuckled and grinned impishly as she gripped the base of his cock firmly with her left hand and teased herself with her right.

Without warning, she enveloped the broad head of his cock in the wet heat of her mouth and sucked hard, drawing from him his release with a shuddering cry. Only the strength of his clenching core muscles and sheer force of will prevented him from collapsing and crushing her under his weight.

He didn’t have to look to know that she was revelling in the taste of him, savouring every last drop. In fact, it was probably best that he didn’t look; he’d only lose himself again, and he needed every last ounce of energy for what he was going to do to her when she finally set him free.

By the time his breathlessness had abated and he risked taking a peek, Rukia was apparently very pleased with herself as she sat back against the bed, regarding him with a broad smile. Most of her lipstick had smeared and transferred onto him. Had he mentioned he loved it when she wore lipstick? He probably should. At least three times every hour. Starting tomorrow. Definitely.

He could already feel the fresh stirrings of arousal.

Rukia shifted and leant forward until they were nose to nose. “Hey,” she uttered quietly, raking her nails down his chest. He tried to capture her lips in a kiss, but she moved just out of reach, pressing a small silver key to his mouth. “Do you promise to do whatever I want?”

Renji nodded.

“Anything?” she asked. “Anything at all?”

“Anything,” he concurred.

Lifting herself to straddle him, she nipped and kissed a path down his jawline; that tight, wet, gleaming heat teasing but still elusive. Her slender arms looped around him, and he waited patiently as she fitted the key into the lock.

Taking a moment to unfold his legs, and rotate and flex his wrists, Renji refrained from any further action whilst Rukia traced her fingers across the tattoos of his brow, choosing her next move carefully.

Eventually, she locked her lips to his in a loving caress, her small hands cupping his face. Once satisfied, she pulled away slowly, that fierce determination shining through as her eyes met his. Her voice was soft, but her words, her instructions, rang clear and true.

“ _Fuck me_.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- ¥365 was worth approximately £1.50. 
> 
> \- The line "Metal carries water" refers to Chinese philosophy known as the five elements theory about how different elements interact with one another. Different to western classical elements (earth, air, fire, water), the traditional Chinese elements are: wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. I could go on forever and a day about this, but I shall spare you the pain.
> 
> I have it on good authority that Rukia's nickname for her sister (Attila the Nun) came about when she and Renji were caught *not* doing their history assignments on Hisana's kitchen table. The table they subsequently broke. Hisana will forgive them only when they replace the table. (Other nicknames suggested were Genghis, as in Genghis You-Khan't-Do-That.)
> 
> Is it possible for one person to make and decorate that many cakes for a single event? Speaking from experience, yes, it is. It is hell. Do not do this. 
> 
> It should also be noted that much of the party itself was inspired by my own family, who were renowned for their legendary shindigs, especially during the late 80s. Imagine the video to Cyndi Lauper's 'Girls Just Want To Have Fun' video with more people in smaller rooms. Only, in this scenario, it's the parents (my grandparents) who orchestrated the whole thing. Random strangers were most definitely welcome.  
> Real life funnies from these parties include: the time my Grandad was so drunk he was eating the cotton wool snowball table decorations instead of actual food; the time everyone tried to cram into the bathroom (reasons unknown) and someone turned the shower on, leading to a very rowdy chorus of Singin' in the Rain; the time they (multiple drunken individuals/ suspects) nearly burned the house down after setting off party poppers with the paper streamers over a number of candles because they didn't foresee the inherent risk; and, finally, for some reason, it became tradition for the women to nick the men's shoes and try and do the can-can whilst wearing them and singing Pearl's Cafe (The Specials) down the street.  
> Don't ask. I don't know.


End file.
